Fire in The Dungeon

Ch 22 Observer

Severus Snape moved silently through the eerily quiet corridors of Hogwarts, the dim light casting long shadows on the stone walls. The new term was fast approaching, and there was much to prepare. Yet, despite his focus on the tasks at hand, his mind kept drifting back to Andromeda Potami. He hadn't seen her since the night the dementors appeared, and the memory of that encounter gnawed at him, leaving a lingering unease he couldn't quite shake.

"Foolish," he muttered to himself, gripping the edge of his desk in frustration. He was surrounded by potion ingredients, a cauldron bubbling softly before him, but his thoughts were far from the concoction simmering away. "Foolish to dwell on such distractions."

But Andromeda was more than a distraction. She had been absent from his life for weeks now, and despite his best efforts to push her from his mind, she lingered at the edges, a phantom haunting his thoughts. He remembered the last time he saw her—how she had seemed so distant, her vibrant presence dulled by some unspoken burden.

Why is she avoiding me? The question plagued him, but he dismissed it with the same ruthless efficiency he applied to everything else in his life. He had more pressing concerns than the whims of a woman who seemed determined to shut him out.

Snape could understand why she was angry with Dumbledore. The old man's machinations had left more than a few people disillusioned, and Andromeda had always been fiercely independent, never one to blindly follow orders. But why was she avoiding him? What had he done to warrant such coldness?

And yet...

Snape slammed a vial down on the table, frustration boiling over. It wasn't just her absence that troubled him. It was the fact that he missed her, that her silence had carved a hollow place in his chest that he couldn't fill with potion-making or teaching or even the dark, bitter satisfaction he found in his double life. And that realization infuriated him.

"Enough," he hissed, as if saying it aloud could force her from his thoughts. But even as he tried to refocus, the Dark Mark on his arm flared to life, a searing pain shooting through his veins. Snape clenched his teeth, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the sinister symbol etched into his skin. It was burning black—a clear summons.

He inhaled sharply, knowing what it meant. The Dark Lord was growing restless. His plans were in motion, and it wouldn't be long before the world felt the full weight of his return.

Pushing everything else aside, Snape prepared to leave. There was no time to dwell on Andromeda now, no time to indulge in thoughts of her sad, haunted eyes or the way she had looked at him the last time they spoke. The world was on the brink of chaos, and he had a role to play.

As he reached the door, a sudden, vivid image flashed through his mind: Andromeda, her white hair falling over her shoulders, her lavender eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and something else he couldn't quite name. He stopped, his hand on the door, heart pounding.

Why do you haunt me so?

But there was no answer, just the cold silence of his office and the insistent throb of the Dark Mark. The frustration within him deepened, a searing annoyance at himself for being so affected by her absence.

With a curt shake of his head, Snape stepped out into the corridor, his mind steeling itself against the flood of emotions threatening to overtake him. He had a mission. He had a purpose. And whatever Andromeda Potami was to him—whatever she could have been—had to be pushed aside.

But as he apparated to the site of the Dark Lord's summoning, the chaos hit him like a physical blow. The Quidditch World Cup grounds were ablaze with panicked shouts and the sickly green glow of the Dark Mark, suspended ominously in the sky. Fires raged across the tents, casting flickering shadows over the terrified faces of witches and wizards scrambling to escape the carnage.